


A Beautiful Fool

by LadyKenz347



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Consent under Duress, Dubious Consent, F/M, Infidelity, Inspired by The Great Gatsby, Quotations from The Great Gatsby, Rape/Non-con Elements, domestic abuse, spousal rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:41:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24664027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyKenz347/pseuds/LadyKenz347
Summary: In the five years following the fall of Voldemort, little has changed. Other than the sudden disappearance of the Golden Boy and Pansy's surname, everything is quite the same...Until the past resurfaces and then, nothing will ever be the same again.
Relationships: Pansy Parkinson/Cassius Warrington, Pansy Parkinson/Harry Potter
Comments: 15
Kudos: 58
Collections: Before the Spring Snaps: The Classics





	A Beautiful Fool

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [BTSS2020](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/BTSS2020) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> Daisy Buchanan and Jay Gatsby (The Great Gatsby)
> 
> This piece includes several content warnings including domestic abuse, consent under duress, and elements of non-con and dub-con. If you are unsure, please visit the endnotes for more detailed information about the scene in question. 
> 
> Thank you!

It’d been a quiet sort of afternoon, the kind that stretched on its vast nothingness—the kind that made up Pansy Parkinson’s entire life these days. But then, as if the universe was conspiring in her favour, her entire world was upended with three little words. 

“Where’s my girl?” A familiar voice rumbled through her reverie, and Pansy shot up from her spot on the settee, a gasp tearing through her as she set her sights on her old friend. Theodore Nott was different— older. Paris had made a man of the boy she’d known her entire life, his jaw more square and shadowed by late afternoon stubble. His eyes were still the most vibrant shade of sky blue, but they had an edge of mischief to them now. 

“Theo!” she squealed, and in an instant, she was hopping over the back edge of the furniture and crashing into him with far too much force. “What on earth are you doing here? I wasn’t expecting you until the holidays.”

She clung to him like a buoy in a hurricane, desperate for the comfort of his company. In true Theo fashion, he pretended to choke, purposefully extricating himself from Pansy’s clutches. Holding her at arm’s length, he inspected her with a crooked smile. “You look good, Pans.” 

“I know.” She winked and grabbed hold of his scruffy jaw, turning him this way and that with an amused smirk. “Paris looks good on you. Lost all that baby fat.”

_ “Hey!”  _

She turned back for the settee, heels clipping against the marble.  _ “Gemma!”  _

Preluded with a soft  _ pop, _ her house-elf appeared. “Tea, ma’am?”

“No, no.” Waving her off, Pansy crooked a finger in Theo’s direction. “Champagne, I think; we’re celebrating. Will you tell Cassius we’ve received company?”

Gemma nodded and bowed, her nose almost brushing the marble, and then she swiftly left the way she came.

In the year since she’d seen Theo, she’d missed him more than she thought possible. It was shortly after his father’s incarceration that he slipped away to Paris, returning only for the big moments in their group of friends: Pansy’s engagement and subsequent wedding, Draco’s as well. He was a familiar from her past, a constant in her tumultuous childhood.

“Champagne? Fuck, it’s only half two.” 

“When in Rome,” she said with a sly smile, frantically patting at the space next to her. 

A disbelieving huff pushed past his lips. “We’re in Wiltshire, and last I checked, they’re still drinking tea in the afternoon in England.” 

Rolling her eyes, Pansy shoved playfully at her friend’s shoulder before sinking back into her corner of the settee. “Tell me everything about Paris. Do they miss me?”

“Of course.” 

Her lower lip jutted out in an exaggerated pout, and Theo choked on a laugh. “I mean to say  _ dreadfully so _ . All of Paris—nay all of  _ France _ —is in an all out uproar at your absence. Rioting in the streets, debutantes and eligible young wizards wailing for your return. It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen.” 

Theo was a dreadful liar, but it raised her spirits fractionally either way. She grinned at him. “That’s far more like it. What are you doing the rest of the day? You’ll have to stay round for dinner. Maybe I’ll invite Daphne.” 

Before he could answer, Gemma returned alongside an ice bucket with a bottle of champagne and two flutes. Gemma filled the glasses and handed them to Pansy and Theo; blinking a few times, Pansy realised her husband's absence. “Where’s Cas?” she asked, the rim of her champagne flute hovering over her lips. 

“Gemma is not sure, ma’am. Master was not in his study when Gemma checked.” A sick feeling roiled in Pansy’s belly, but she could feel Theo watching her carefully. She fixed a bright smile on her face and waved the elf away, turning back to Theo as unaffected as possible. 

The rumors—if that’s what one chose to call them—had been circulating for months. Cassius Warrington, Pansy’s husband, had taken a mistress. She’d expected it when she entered into marriage with the man, but somehow she’d thought she’d be the exception. She thought she might be enough. But like a good Pureblood husband, he strayed quickly and  _ often _ . 

“He must have snuck out to meet with the boys,” Pansy lied. “We’ll just do dinner on our own! Maybe head into—” 

“Pansy…” Theo tried to interrupt, but she would not be deterred, not even when a single tear slipped free from her thick lashes. 

“We could go out dancing like we used to or head to Draco’s and drink up all his wares. It’ll be great—just like the old times.” Her heart ached, and it wasn’t because Cassius was sleeping with that tart at two thirty in the afternoon. It was because her life, the one she’d painstakingly plotted and planned for, the one she’d been bred and born into, fell so epically short of what she’d always thought it would be. 

She and Theo were the same in many ways: matching pedigrees, trust funds, and stunningly good looks. But Theo had something that Pansy never would:  _ freedom. _

Following Hogwarts, Theo and Blaise were free to run away to the continent and lose themselves in any passing fancy they wished. Pansy was bought and paid for before the blood had dried on the cobblestones of the Hogwarts courtyard. 

“Are you okay?” Theo asked, his voice low and serious. 

She smiled wanly. “Never better.” 

xXx

Come dinner time, Pansy was well and truly pissed. Blaise and Daph had arrived, and the lot of them were lost in bittersweet memories and champagne. The empty bottles on the table outnumbered the guests, and laughter spilled into the night air. 

“Tell me, mate,” Blaise said, leaning towards Theo with a drunken sway to his shoulders. “Will you miss Paris?”

Theo shrugged. “It’s good to be home, and Paris isn’t going anywhere. Besides, can’t keep letting you get yourself into trouble without me.”

“Speaking of trouble.” Blaise eyed the rest of the table with an impish smile. “Have you heard that the old Selwyn estate was bought? They’ve been holding the wildest parties—everyone goes. Been a time or two myself, and it’s not your nan’s party; I’ll tell you that much.” 

Pansy finished off her champagne and rolled her eyes. She had indeed heard of the parties at the old Selwyn estate; all of London had. “Those parties are for degenerates. No one in proper wizarding society attends.” 

“Daph did!” Blaise blurted, pointing an accusatory finger at the brunette witch. 

Daphne gasped and plucked a roll from the basket, bouncing it off Blaise’s head. “So did you, you prat!”

Choking on her own breath, Pansy slammed her hand against the table. “You did  _ what? _ Who even throws the parties? I’ve heard awful things…” 

“Actually,” Daphne started with a grimace, “it was quite fun. Sure, there are no elves, and the music is gods awful and  _ loud, _ but it’s nothing like the parties we’re used to.”

“We have to go.” Theo grinned, wagging his eyebrows at her. 

“Absolutely not. Cassius will have my skin if I’m seen there. Can you imagine?” The thought sobered her, and Pansy sat back with a tight purse to her lips. 

From across the table, Blaise made a clucking sound and craned his neck to the empty sitting room over her shoulder. “Tell me, Pans, where is old Cassius? Haven’t seen the bloke all evening.” 

Pansy’s eyes narrowed into slits, and she was just about to unleash her venom on the sod when Daphne interjected, “Knock it off, Blaise. You know she won’t want to go; she’s not like that anymore.” 

The words hit her in the gut like a punch, and her jaw went slack. “What on earth is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing!” Daphne shouted above the boys’ tittering laughs. “I just mean—well, come on, you know. There was a time when it was impossible to keep you from making reckless decisions. I seem to remember catching you with a certain Gryffindor in a broom cupboard or two sixth year?” 

A fevered blush stained her cheeks, and Pansy straightened her spine, lips pursing. Those memories were sealed in the recesses of her mind, and nothing— _ nothing— _ good would come from bringing them to the surface. “I assure you I am the same good time I’ve always been.” 

“Yeah,” Blaise said, pulling an envelope from his jacket with a bright grin. “Prove it, Parkinson. The invitation turns to a portkey at eleven.” 

“It’s Warrington now,” Theo supplied, tipping a bottle of champagne straight to his lips. “There’s a difference there, I think. Parkinson did things that Mrs. Warrington wouldn’t dream.” 

They were egging her on; she  _ knew _ that. But regardless of her surname, Pansy wasn’t one to back down from a challenge. 

xXx

Pansy had never set foot on the old Selwyn estate until that night, but even without prior knowledge to draw on, she was quite sure that never in its long history had it looked like this. 

Every window was lit with bright golden light, raucous music booming through the air as though a private concert was being held inside. 

Carriages drawn by winged horses littered the lawns, and more people than Pansy thought bloody possible were being corralled through the grand entrance. “Rowena’s rack…” she breathed, staring at the looming house in awe. 

“Just wait.” Blaise’s voice was in her ear, and before she could think twice, the four of them were joining the large mass of guests waiting to be bid entry. 

Before leaving, Pansy had changed into something she deemed more party appropriate, something short and black and from her youth. But upon arrival she realised, she was still horribly overdressed, and jealousy sat bitterly on her tongue. Every girl that pressed in around her in sexy stockings with overflowing cleavage could have been Pansy—well, not the cleavage bits, but certainly the rest of it. 

Pansy looked like a wife. Like a Pureblood wife. Her fringe, which used to be a bit wild, was smooth and tame, her lipstick unsmudged and the colour of a good merlot. For fuck’s sake, she’d worn her gods-damned pearls. 

Finally, the corridor opened up to a grand foyer, and the breath was stolen from her lungs. She’d never seen a sight quite like it. A grand, glittering chandelier hung from the centre of the vaulted ceiling, and under it was a tower of champagne flutes being magically filled from thin air. In turn, they floated away from the stack and into the waiting hands of the patrons as they began to split into different areas of the house. 

Pansy moved in silence, her drunkenness having waned significantly from the time they’d arrived. The energy of the house didn’t match her mood; every person was bubbling over in wild laughter, tugging their friends towards the sounds of music and sparkling lights that glittered on the floor. 

Of all the parties Pansy had been in attendance to, she’d never seen anything like this. At the top of the grand staircase stood that Finnegan boy from Hogwarts. A moment later and the twit had popped the cork and champagne was fizzing and raining from the terrace, soaking her and her friends. Hissing, she ducked under the stairwell and scowled. “What the bloody hell are we doing here? This is pure debauchery.” 

Theo and Blaise were grinning, necks craning as they oogled each and every passing witch. With a bright laugh, Daphne hooked her arm through Pansy’s and tugged her away from the foyer. “Come out back; it’s gorgeous.” 

Together they slid through the massive crowd, and Pansy tried her best not to be disgusted by the hot, sweaty bodies knocking into her. Finally, the mass of people gave way as they stumbled into the cool night air. A gasp tore through her lips as she surveyed the back lawn of the massive estate. A stunning pool full of glittering, floating candles stood proudly in the centre, surrounded impossibly by even more beautiful people. 

“So this is how the other half lives,” Pansy said, sipping on a champagne flute as Daphne led her deeper into the chaos. “And you don’t know who owns it?”

“Nope.” Daphne wiggled her fingers in the air at someone far in the distance. “No one’s ever seen them. The invitations go out, the people come, but that’s it.” 

“Clearly there aren’t many Slytherins in attendance because arriving at an old Death Eater estate with little more incentive than free alcohol isn’t exactly self-preserving.”

“It’s fun, Pans, in a time when we all desperately need it.” 

She scoffed. “I have fun all the time.” 

Daphne offered her friend a withering look before rolling her eyes and turning back for the crowd. “Oh my gods, it’s Marcus…  _ Marcus! _ ” 

Blanching, Pansy stepped back. Cassius would have her head for a trophy if he knew she was here, and if Marcus Flint was here— 

The world stilled as she spied her husband in Flint’s company. She didn’t notice she was breathless until she found herself desperately heaving lungfuls of air. 

Cassius' dark glare narrowed on his wife, and Pansy stumbled back, reaching for the fabric of Daphne’s skirt. 

“Pansy, darling. I didn’t realise you’d be here.” Her husband smiled, but it never reached his eyes, and she could feel the acidic tension billowing off him as he came to her side, pressing a short kiss to her temple. His fingers dug into her hip so hard she was sure she’d bruise.

Pansy swallowed thickly. “Theo’s in town, and they all suggested we venture out. I’d no idea it was quite like this.”

_  
_ Daphne’s gaze traveled back and forth between Pansy and her husband, worrying her lip as though this was somehow her responsibility. “Blame me, Cassius,” she supplied weakley. “I just missed my girl is all; I nearly had to kidnap her.” 

“There you are!” Theo’s voice rang through the night air, and Pansy reeled, searching for him as though he were a safe place. There were no safe places. “Cassius, how are you?” 

The pair shook hands, but Cassius' glacial reception was not unnoticed. “Fine, thank you. I didn’t know you were coming back to London so soon.” 

“Yes, well, I’m nothing if not surprising. And speaking of surprises…” Theo smirked and came up to Pansy’s side. “Blaise and I were inside and just heard the most delightful bit of gossip.” 

Cassius made a low grunt of assent, and Theo continued on. “The house belongs to the Golden Boy.” 

Brow furrowing, Pansy turned to stare up at her friend. 

Theo’s eyes were tight on her.  _ “Potter.” _

The world closed in around her, all the ambient noise of the wild party quieting to a hum. Her knees flexed and buckled, and it was only by Cassius’ hard grip on her hip bone that she didn’t topple to the grass below. 

“Potter?” she breathed. “What Potter?”

Theo’s lips twitched, his lips parting to respond, but Cassius’ was faster. “Merlin, let’s hope that’s not true.” A cruel laugh erupted from her side. “Everything’s been better since that twat disappeared.” 

Pansy still couldn’t speak, staring up at Theo as her imagination ran wild.  _ Potter _ . 

“There’s a reason he tucked tail and ran,” Marcus said, tipping a glass in a small cheers. 

Daphne snorted. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, it’s like Pans said, they should have bloody grabbed him and turned him in sooner.” Marcus was clearly drunk, his eyes glassy and half lidded. “All those people he let die… it’s a shame, really.” 

Once upon a time, curled in a corner of the Quidditch pitch and freshly snogged, Harry had mused that they ought to run away. He was an idiot, even then. He didn’t understand the very simple concept that they were doomed before they started. Their worlds were destined to orbit around each other, never touching.

She retained dozens of memories, stolen moments from sixth year that she couldn’t think too long on. He promised he’d make it better someday, promised he’d marry her and steal her away. 

But he didn’t. He ran. 

And Pansy was forced to endure seventh year alone, watching that blasted Weasley girl mope about like she meant anything. 

War waits for nothing and especially not for young love. Seeing him there in the Great Hall, the adrenaline of a mob coursing through her, she’d just said it.  _ Grab him. _

The last words he’d heard her say.. 

But, because the bloody idiot didn’t know when to stay dead, he persevered. Harry Potter would forever be known as the boy who defeated the darkest wizard in history and, promptly after doing so, ran into the arms of Ginny Weasley. 

That was in the past, though. She’d become Mrs. Pansy Warrington the month after she turned eighteen, and now, five years later, the last thing on earth she could be bothered to fuss with was Harry-bleeding-Potter.

Pansy was brought back to the present when her husband boomed a loud, throaty laugh at her side. She blinked a few times and fixed a bright smile on her face as she looked around the small assembly of their classmates. 

Over near the edge of the pool was a young girl, wearing too much makeup and her hair tied up in a wild mess; her gaze was trained on Cassius. Pansy’s stomach flopped because she knew all too well the look on the young witch’s face and the way it was directed at her husband. 

That was her. The mistress. 

“The boys and I are going to have another drink, my love,” Cassius said, finally turning to stare at his wife. “Why don’t you head home, and I’ll see you there shortly.” 

“Oh, surely she can stay out a bit!” Daphne crooned, but Pansy only gulped and shook her head, recognizing at once the look in her husband's eyes. 

“I’m actually rather tired.” Pansy’s lips twitched into a sad smile, and she turned back to Cassius. “Maybe you could see me to the Apparition line?”

He was looking elsewhere. Looking at  _ her. _ The whore. “You’ll be fine, darling. I’ll see you soon.” 

Eyes fluttering closed, Pansy bolstered her smile and bid them all goodnight. Thankfully, Theo followed her out, gripping her elbow just as she spun in on herself and arrived on the lawns of the great Warrington estate. 

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

Snorting, Pansy wiped the wayward tears from her cheeks. “Don’t be. I’m the beautiful fool who’s got it all.” 

xXx

Pansy didn’t sleep. Nestled in her silk sheets and surrounded by a gauzy white canopy, she lay there staring at the waxing moon as hours and hours ticked by. She should be thinking of her husband… of the tart. Of all the jewelry he was bestowing on her, much like he did when Pansy was still young and beautiful— when he still wanted her. 

But she wasn’t. 

She was thinking of emerald eyes and full lips and a smaller life that she could have claimed as hers. She was thinking of the newspapers that heralded his disappearance five years ago and how no one had ever seen him again. For a while she thought he might be dead, but that didn’t make much sense. The bugger had been impossible to kill the first time through. 

Where on earth did Harry Potter run when at the end of the world? And would he have taken her?

The Floo in the adjacent study burst to life, and Pansy stilled, eyes fluttering closed even as her heart picked up a wild cadence. 

Her husband was unsurprisingly pissed drunk; the clatter of the furniture and knick knacks echoed through the quiet, and she prayed to the universe that tonight he might be so drunk he wanted to just fall asleep. 

She could hear him cursing at the innocuous pieces of the room, stumbling in through the door with heavy feet. The smell of whisky and cigar smoke and sex billowed off his body as he kicked off his shoes and flopped onto the duvet. Silently, she praised the gods as the sound of his snore pierced the quiet and she returned her attention to the night sky. 

The same moon that hung in the sky every night for eternity looked different tonight. Because, for the first time in a very long time, she wondered if maybe Harry Potter might be looking at it too. 

xXx

Harry

She’d been here. 

A disbelieving laugh choked from his lungs as he’d watched from the third floor balcony while Pansy rushed past the Apparition line and once again out of his life. 

It’d all been for her. All of it. 

When these little soirees of his had first begun, he’d prayed that someone might bring her. He made sure the invitations were sent to the right people, just adjacent enough to give him a chance. 

Somewhere along the way, the parties turned nearly debaucherous in nature, and Harry began to fear that she might never show up. 

But she had. Merlin, Morgana, and all four founders, but she had. 

Days later and he hadn’t heard anything from her, not that he expected to. It took all his strength to remember that Pansy Parkinson was no more—she was a wife now. A Warrington. 

Harry huffed as he walked through his now-empty home. Bloody Cassius Warrington. He’d been older, in Cedric’s year, but that hadn’t stopped Harry from beating him on the Quidditch Pitch and taking home the Triwizard Cup. 

But, it seemed old Cas won in the end; he got the girl. 

It’d taken Harry years to return to London, and even now, in the hills of the countryside, he wasn’t sure he felt at peace. This wasn’t his home any longer, and although he had felt in his soul it was time, he couldn’t figure out why.

At the end of sixth year, Harry had been distraught over Dumbledore’s death, barely able to look at Pansy as he made plans for the months to come and said a hasty goodbye.  _ It’s all for the best _ , she’d sniffed.  _ We were never going to work out anyway; you don’t come from my world. _

Years later, sitting on a beach with a shaggy beard and a bottle of beer in his hand, Harry realised the truth of her statement. Voldemort had taken so much from him: lives and memories and his childhood. 

If he’d have grown up a Potter—a  _ real _ Potter, the final descendant of a great family line—then maybe he’d have been worthy of Pansy Parkinson. 

An ember had flared to life in his belly that day, and even if she was married, he’d been determined to just exist in the same world as she, to have her in his life in some way. He’d moved in the shadows, throwing galleons at the old Selwyn estate until it was fixed up properly, luring the Wizarding world to his doorstep all on the wing of a prayer that she’d waltz back into his life. 

He lied to himself repeatedly, saying that if only he could just  _ see _ her again, that’d be enough. Just to stand in her presence and memorise the curve of cheek and the bow of her lips once more. In the depths of his soul, he knew he was lying. 

He was in love with Pansy, and he had to believe that she felt the same. 

xXx

Rain beat down on the estate, flooding his garden beds and destroying his hopes at an afternoon flight. 

Harry couldn’t help but scowl out the windows to the back veranda as water pelted the giant pool. From Friday night around nine until the wee hours of Saturday, this house was filled with people standing shoulder to shoulder, dancing, and drinking. He didn’t have much to fill his time other than that, but that was nothing new. 

No, it was the quiet that was new. The deafening, suffocating silence that never ended. His friends didn’t understand— _ couldn’t _ understand. 

Through the windows, his eyes caught on the grand fountain in the corner of the lawn. A thick stream of water was shooting straight up into the air, flooding the pristine lawn.  _ Bollocks.  _

Lifting his wand and muttering an umbrella charm, he pushed the door open and rushed towards it, the bottom of his trousers soaking several inches as he traipsed through the sodden grass. Upon arriving at the edge of the shallow pool and spectacular fountain, he growled, realizing that in order to repair the damned thing he would need to drop his wand from where it shielded him from the torrential rain. 

“Bugger it.” No sooner had he pointed the tip of his wand at the fountain, he was soaked full to the bone. “ _ Reparo.” _ The water cut off for a moment before returning to a violent jet.  _ “Reparo Maxima!” _

Magic thrummed down his arm and wrapped around the break. With a long sigh, he jogged back to the house, still soaked but past caring. 

Bursting through the back door, he shook the water droplets from his hair and stomped his boots.  _ “Mother fu—” _

_ But she was there.  _

Standing just inside the open doorway, perfectly dry and impossibly more beautiful than the last time he’d seen her. 

Pansy Warrington née Parkinson. 

She turned slowly, chest puffing out as her gaze settled on him. The silence that stretched on was punctuated only by the hard thuds of his previously broken heart against his sternum. 

“Well.” Slowly, the column of her throat constricted, and she squared her shoulders. “I’m certainly happy to see you again.” 

Words failed him spectacularly, his lips parting as he stared back at her for the longest moment he could remember living. “I-I’m certainly glad to see you as well.” 

As if she was remembering herself, she shimmied her shoulders and stepped further into the house, turning on the spot as she stared at the grand chandelier. “It looks different without all the riff-raff.” 

Harry’s lips twitched into a smile, but he said nothing, jamming his hands in his trouser pockets as he watched her. 

“You ought to have better wards, too. I Apparated right onto the lawns. It’s dangerous, you know.” 

Humming, he took a tentative step forward. 

“And your parties are gaudy.” She rolled her eyes and approached the large round table where charmed champagne glasses usually stood, dragging her fingertips along the surface as she rounded it, keeping careful distance from him. With her back turned, he pushed his luck, coming up close behind her and watching as the knowledge of his presence spread goosebumps along her exposed shoulder. 

She reeled on him, fat tears unshed at her lash line. “And you shouldn’t disappear for five bloody years and just arrive back in England like some tacky, two-bit fool. People were worried about you.” 

“Were they?” he finally asked, brows pitching over his wire frames. 

“Yes. They were.” She turned, putting more space between them as she approached the wall of windows showcasing the back of the estate and the fountain he’d just repaired. 

Outside, the storm was passing; the dark oppressing rainclouds now nothing more than someone else's worry. 

“I’m going to go change. Will you—” Harry’s words caught in his vocal cords because the thought of parting from her for even another moment felt like he’d swallowed an ember. “Will you wait?”

A long, indignant sigh pushed past her lips, and she waved him off. “Waited this long, haven’t I?”

It was nothing, barely even above an insult if you squinted at it, but dangerous hope flared to life in his stomach. With a lungful of air, he nodded and rushed to his room. 

Rummaging through his closet, Harry couldn’t help the racketing of his heart. This was all wrong; he’d had a plan. A very good plan, as it were. He was going to show her who he was now, that he was someone. A decorated war hero, a wealthy man of society, a  _ someone. _

Instead, he’d appeared cursing and looking like a drowned cat as she stood there statuesque and more perfect than the first day he’d fallen in love with her. 

He changed, donning some light trousers and an ivory jumper before sliding into his en suite and trying—in vain—to fuss with his unruly hair. 

Harry’s feet couldn’t carry him fast enough to the foyer; each step felt like an eternity, and when he stepped off the staircase, his heart dropped. She wasn’t there. He turned wildly in his spot, rushing to the windows and finding the lawn empty. 

But then, a somber song lilted through the air, and it felt as thought the world had finally begun to spin again. There, in the parlour, seated primly at a grand piano bench, was his girl. The girl he’d crossed oceans to forget and still couldn’t manage it. 

Her fingers drifted lovingly over the keys, each note echoing in the wide expanse between them as her toes pressed perfectly in time with the pedals. Just as the final note drifted away, she sighed.

“I thought you didn’t play,” she said, eyes trained where her fingers still pressed into the ivory keys. 

“I don’t.” 

With a snort, her hand fell away, and she turned, promptly hitching one knee over the other. “Then why on earth do you have it? I can tell it wasn’t the Selwyns’—it’s too new.” 

He chuckled, brow furrowing as he crossed the room. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Some people buy their furniture, Potter,” she said, rising to stand. “Others inherit it. You are the former.” 

It was an insult, he thought, even if he couldn’t deduce  _ why _ exactly it wasn’t appropriate for someone to buy their furniture. He decided not to respond, unsure how to even do so if he wanted, and instead just studied her as she wrinkled her nose in contempt at him. 

“Well?” She lifted her palms to the ceiling. “Why did you spend a small fortune on a grand piano? Does your wife play?”

A crooked smile twisted his lips, and he shook his head, eyes daring to his shoes. “No wife. There’s no one.” 

“No  _ Ginny _ ?” Pansy said the name like it was dipped in vinegar and rolled her eyes as she began a long turn about the room. 

“Nope.” His lips popped on the second syllable. “No Ginny.” 

“So you bought it because it’s pretty then? It’s stupid, really, wasting your galleons like that.” 

“I got it for you.” 

She stilled, tension settling in the slope of her shoulders before turning to eye him dangerously.  _ “What?” _

“You always wanted one at school; you hated that dusty little upright in the music room. I saw it, and I wanted you to have it.”

Sniffing, she fixed that cold mask on her features again. “And what makes you think I don’t have one?”

There was something about seeing her all riled up and irritated with him that felt right—felt like home. “I’m sure you do. I just wanted to buy it for you.” 

Her jaw trembled just barely, and she swallowed before speaking, “That was foolish of you.” 

Smirking, he loosened a mirthless chuckle and dragged a hand through his wild hair as he turned for the small bar tucked in the wall. “True. But I always was a fool when it came to you, Parkinson.” 

“It’s Warrington now.” 

“I remember hearing that. How is your husband? Well, I hope.” 

“Do you really care?”

Harry didn’t respond immediately, turning with two tumblers of Ogdens and offering her one. After taking a long sip, eyes never leaving hers, he said, “Not really, but it’s nice to be nice sometimes.” 

She snorted. “Well, he’s—” Pausing, she dragged her thumb along the crystal cuts of the glass. “He’s everything I ever wanted.” 

The lie was evident in the shaking of her voice, but he wouldn’t push her. Pansy Parkinson wasn’t a witch to be pushed; she loved the chase too much. 

“I’m happy for you. Cheers,” he said, tilting his glass in her direction before falling into the corner of the settee. 

She eyed him a minute, expression still trepidatious, but eventually she sat in the other corner, back straight. “And you? Five years is a long time.” 

Harry took another long drink; he’d considered a hundred times what he’d say to account for his absence, grand exaggerations of adventures he only nearly had. “It was all just a little too much  _ after _ . I travelled—” 

“You ran,” she said, an accusation heavy on her tone. 

The words twisted in his gut like a serrated knife, but he managed to keep his chin level, his eyes tight on her. “I’d done my part; I’d given enough. There was nothing in England for me but horrible memories and funerals. So, yes, I ran. I think I deserved as much.” 

“ _ Nothing _ in England? Thanks, Potter.” Pansy slammed her glass on the table with too much force and rushed to her feet, scrambling for her clutch. 

Harry rolled his eyes and finished his drink before rising to stand while she floundered. “This from the girl who was so quick to offer my life in exchange for hers.” 

Before he could make sense of it, her hand darted out, palm connecting with his cheek as a sob tore through her. Dragging a tongue along his cheek, Harry grappled with the sting, with the ugly truth that he’d said the one thing he promised himself not to say. 

_ “You left me _ . After Dumbledore... not an owl, not your stupid stag, nothing came to let me know you were alive. You don’t know what I endured in that school while you were off with Granger and Co.; you don’t know the things I had to do to survive. You don’t know how much those words have haunted me every moment since I spoke them.” 

“Pans—” Words failed him. Each tear on her cheek was a reminder of where he’d gone wrong, of the mistakes he’d made in order to vanquish Voldemort. “I don’t blame you. Knowing what I know now, I wish they would have taken me then. Maybe… maybe things would be different.” 

Swiping at the wayward tears streaking down her cheek, she laughed wryly. “You’re a fool if there ever was one, Harry Potter. You need to stop forgiving people who don’t deserve it.” 

His eyes fell to the carpet between their feet, and, as she retreated, turning for the door to leave his life once again, his heart seized. “Will you come back tomorrow?” he managed, voice tight. 

The clicking of her heels stopped, and she let go of a heavy breath. “Yes.” 

And then she was gone but not without leaving a lingering hope in her wake.

* * *

**Pansy**

_ Stupid. Foolish. Completely pointless. _

As Pansy marched towards her sitting room, she violently threw her clutch at a helpless arm chair as though it’d personally offended her and made for the drink cart. 

Why on earth she had thought— _ Why she’d even considered... _

“Darling.” The simple term of endearment sent ripples of anxiety across her skin, her fingers stilling on an empty glass. 

_ Cassius. _

Swallowing the discomfort rising up her throat, she fixed a smile on her face. “Love, I didn’t realise you were home today. How are you?”

After pouring a drink she turned, finding Cassius lounging in a high back chair with a glass of whisky hanging from his fingertips. He looked like shit, like he’d woken up still drunk and kept hitting the bottle. 

He’d been handsome once, presumably still would be if he let himself sober long enough. 

“Where were you?”

Pansy shrugged and sat stiffly on the edge of the settee. “With Theo. He’s just returned to town, and I wanted to—” 

She’d barely spoken, but he threw the glass in his hands against the wall, its remnants falling in shards across the floor. With a small whimper, she sank back, a shiver settling into her bones. Cassius was on his feet in a snap, caging her with his thick arms and reeking of stale whisky and smoke. 

“You wouldn’t lie to me would you, darling?” He traced the point of his sharp incisor with the tip of his tongue as one hand gently cradled her jaw, dragging her gaze to his. “Because I don’t think I could  _ live _ if my loving wife saw fit to lie to her husband, the husband who has been so good to her.” 

Pressure pricked at her sinuses while her stomach roiled from fear. His fingers dug in deeper, gripping her jaw so tightly she was sure it might break if he continued. 

“Cas… You’re hurting me.” The words broke on a sob as she tried to pull away from him. The harder she pulled, the more he held on. “Cas, please. I love you—I’m not lying. I love you.” 

The warring in his grey eyes lit like a flame, burning as he stared down at her with a sneer. She knew the look; she’d seen it too many times before. 

“Cas—” Her hands rested on his shoulders, sliding up to his cheeks as she poured contrition and love into her voice. “I love you. Come back to me. Kiss me.” 

Angry tears welled near his lashes, and with a final bruising grip, he released her, his lips crashing into hers with a kiss that made her want to wretch. His clumsy tongue pushed between her lips as he laid her back against the settee and climbed over her. He bruised where he touched, always wanting it harder— _ rougher _ —and with each unaffectionate touch, she bit back a cry. 

Sometimes he punished her with sex, taking out his aggression for his life and drunkenness on her body and she was grateful when he did. Other times he wanted to go slow, to kiss her body and drag pleasure from her and that was too much for her. 

Let it be quick.  _ Let it be over.  _

He rutted into her, his prick never even fully hard as he shoved inside her. Rancid breath fanned over her, and she forced pleasured noises from inside her as he fucked her sloppily on the settee. 

While he sought his release, fingers closing around her throat, she dissociated, mind wandering to what her life could have been like if she’d just bloody run with Harry Potter when she had the chance. 

xXx

She'd worn her crimson dress, the one that seemed to float around her knees and hugged her ribcage. While dressing, she felt a little ridiculous as she affixed her matching pillbox hat on her head, setting the gauzy veil just  _ so _ over her eyes. 

Staring in her floor length mirror, she inspected herself closely. She was still pretty, maybe not as young and beautiful as she was before she got married, but she was still young enough. Still beautiful enough. 

Her eyes caught on the fingertip shaped bruises on the side of her throat and just over her breast. They were nothing compared to the ache in her forearm. The one along her cheekbone was swollen, a result of Cassius' second round of drinking the night prior. 

With a bolstering breath, she pulled her wand free and charmed them. She could have easily applied the bruise paste sitting in her drawer—they’d be healed in an hour if she had. But after all these years she found she needed the bruises; they were a constant reminder of her endurance. 

Some might drag their baggage behind them like dead weight, but she donned hers like armour. If she could survive five years as Mrs. Cassius Warrington, she could do anything. 

Blinking and sniffing her tears away, she left her room and marched right out the front door. Disapparting with a hard turn, she arrived on the lawn of the new Potter Estate. 

It was stupid to come again, especially after the way Cassius had reacted last night, but she couldn’t stay away. She’d wanted to see him nearly everyday for five years, and now, by some miracle, he was a blink of magic away. 

She’d barely stepped onto the drive when the door opened. 

Harry was there, lips in a lopsided smile and hair a mess. Rolling her eyes, she took small, measured steps, climbing the handful of stairs and stopping just before him. 

“Potter.” 

“Parkinson,” he said around a smile, stepping to the side so she could enter. She didn’t bother to correct him.

The house was the same as it’d been yesterday and the day before, but she couldn’t help but turn in the middle of the foyer, breathless by the grandeur. 

“You came back.” It wasn’t a question. 

“I did.” 

Silence followed as she stared at him, memorizing the sharp cut to his jaw and the fierceness of his green eyes all over again. 

“I was about to make myself a sandwich. Do you want one?” 

She blinked, nose wrinkling. “A sandwich?” 

Amusement settled over his features as he tried to hide a smile. “Yes, you know, usually two pieces of bread, meat of some sort, lettuce, tomato—” 

“I know what a bleeding sandwich is, Potter. My confusion lies in why you live in this grand house with no elves to make you a sandwich.”

He shrugged, tucking his hands in his pockets once more and retreating backwards down the corridor. “I like sandwiches.” 

Pansy stood there in a moment before finally shaking the disbelief from her body and following along. 

xXx

“So, tell me about life as Lady Warrington,” he said around a mouthful of bread. “Everything you wanted it to be?” 

Pansy flinched, swallowing her bite. “Sure.” 

“I don’t remember much of him at Hogwarts.” 

Setting her sandwich down, she dabbed her napkin at her mouth then toyed with a crisp on the plate perched in her lap. The day was lovely, warm spring sun flooding the back lawn where they sat on a cushioned outdoor settee.

Harry’s elbow perched on the edge of the armrest where his plate was also resting precariously as he looked at her as though she held the secrets of the universe in her soul. 

“I don’t think he was all that memorable,” she allowed with a small smile, setting her plate on the grass. With a long breath, she stretched out, kicking her heels over the opposite end and resting her head in his lap. “Enough about me—” 

Harry smiled, floating his plate away with a wave of his hand. Then he touched her, and it shouldn’t have really been all that important, but it was  _ everything. _ His calloused fingers brushed the crook of her elbow as he settled deeper into his seat. Like this was the most everyday of moments, like it was meant to be. 

“Hah! We’ve barely talked about you. Tell me what you’ve been up to these last few years.” 

“Nothing. What have  _ you _ been doing these last five years?”

He grimaced, fingers coming up to thread through her silky hair the way he’d done a hundred times before. “I saw a few places: the States, South America, Asia. Lived as a Muggle for a while but got too fed up with doing dishes…” They both shared a laugh, and his emerald gaze settled on her, intensity burning with each passing moment. “Mostly, I just missed you.” 

Pansy bristled. “You shouldn’t say such things.” 

“Still true.” His lips twitched in a small smile. “Tell me what you’ve been doing—other than missing me.” 

He laughed, but she didn’t because  _ fuck him _ . She’d spent five years missing the sod while he travelled around the world without providing her any reassurance that he was even alive. Quiet indignation swirled in her belly, and her jaw clenched. “Listen, Potter. I’ve not been up to anything, alright? I’ve been doing the same damn thing I’ve always been doing: wearing pretty dresses, going to parties, and surviving.” 

He stilled next to her. “Pansy, what are you—” He reached out his arm to settle on her forearm, and she yelped, wrenching her arm back and shot up from where she lay. “Pansy?”

“It’s nothing, Potter. Just leave it.” 

She couldn’t look at him. It was as if he could see through her lies and charms. She couldn’t bear the shame of it all. 

Audibly, his teeth locked together, and he shoved away from the small table, marching back into the house. “I’ll kill him.” 

“Harry!” Tears broke free as she stumbled after him, reaching out for his cloak. “Don’t! You don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

He reeled on her, wand in hand, and before she could do anything about it whatsoever, he pointed it at her and said,  _ “Finite.” _

Another sob broke free as she felt her magic fade away. Unable to look at him, she buried her face in her hands. She wasn’t sure what she expected, but when he took her in his arms, holding her closely and smoothing her hair, she broke even further. 

“We’ve got to get you out of there, Pansy. We’ll go and get your things. You can—” 

She choked on a wry laugh, pulling from his embrace with a sneer. “You think it’s that easy?”

“It can be.” 

“Everything is fine. It was a bad night, but I’m fine. Everything is fine.” 

“Bullshite. Look at you; look what he’s done to you. I would never—” 

“Stop! You don’t know what you’re talking about. You haven’t been here! You haven’t been in the trenches for a very long time, Harry. You saved the world and ran, leaving the rest of us to pick up the shrapnel left in your wake. I don’t apologize for how I had to survive, what I’m still doing to survive. If you gave a shit, you should have bloody stayed.” 

“Pansy, you know it’s not that simple. I… I couldn’t. But I can do it now; I can fix this. I can save you.” 

Tears slid down her cheek as her jaw trembled. “I’m not yours to save, Golden Boy.” 

Summoning her clutch and hat, she marched from the house, her heels crunching in the gravel as Harry rounded her, skittering to a stop, his own tears breaking free. “Pansy, I love you. I love you just as much today as I did then, and I don’t want you to leave. I don’t want you to be with him. You can stay here with me and we’ll be together. You don’t have to live like that!”

She was in his arms a moment later, one of his hands gently cradling the base of her skull as his mouth slanted over hers, impossibly soft yet firm and insistent. She allowed herself this single moment, relishing the way his kiss could light her skin on fire, melting her insides until she wanted to buckle and sink into him. His free arm banded around her waist, dragging her closer as he kissed her again and again. 

Too soon, reality crashed over her again, and she cried out, ripping herself away from him. “You shouldn’t have done that,” she said breathlessly, her features pinched and jaw trembling. 

“I love you.” The confession was balm to her beaten soul, and even if that was all she had to get her through the rest of her days, she’d be alright. She’d cling to the impossible truth that Harry Potter loved her once—loved her still. 

Standing to full height, she sniffed and wiped the tears away. “You’re a fool for loving me, Harry Potter. I think you always have been.” 

She was gone a moment later, barrelling towards the place she still called home.

* * *

**Harry**

For a long while, Harry stared at the place where she’d stood. 

He’d pushed too hard; he’d wanted her too much. 

All this time, all these plans to just exist in her atmosphere even as a distant acquaintance, and he’d ruined it with a single brash movement. 

When the skies released a soft drizzle, he woke from his trance, making his way back into the house just as a torrential downpour beat against the earth. 

xXx

Harry had been alone for five years, and still the quiet suffocated him. 

He’d bought this house to prove something to himself, maybe to her. He’d needed to know that he had a place in this world he’d fought too hard to save, but the longer he stayed, the more he realised that maybe that wasn’t true after all. 

The thing about his existence was that despite the fact that people seemed to need him, he was expendable, easily discarded at the slightest provocation. 

And he could live with that when it came to his friends, to Dumbledore, to the Order… but not Pansy. It’d been a fools dream to think that maybe someday she might love him again, but it’d been his nonetheless. 

He moved listlessly through his house, climbing the stairs with a heavy trudge. With a flick of his wrist, his bags collected, expensive shirts and trousers folding themselves neatly into his luggage. 

Chicago had been good to him; he’d enjoyed Peru also. Maybe he’d retrace his steps or maybe he’d go somewhere brand new. Wherever he went, it wouldn’t be England, and that was good enough for him. 

After shrinking his luggage, he trodded down the stairs, defeat evident in the turn of his shoulders as he took a final look at the house that had so recently been a symbol of his hope for the future. 

He wanted to burn it. 

As he stepped over the threshold, he paused mid-step. Standing on his lawn, chin tilted and eyes careful, was a man Harry recognized as Theo Nott. 

“Hello, Potter. It’s been awhile.” 

“What do you want?” Harry’s lip curled and he stomped down the stairs. 

Theo pursed his lips as he studied Harry, his eyes tightening when he continued forward. “I had the feeling you were about to leave. Just left Pansy, you see.” 

A watery snort rumbled in the back of his throat. “Yeah, no shit. No reason to stay.” He marched past him, resolve stronger than ever. 

“She loves you, you know.”

Harry froze, gaze darting over his shoulder. “What did you say?”

“The witch has been mad about you for as long as I can remember, and I know she still loves you. She’s lost her way these past few years, turned into a hollow shell of the girl I grew up with because that girl would have already hexed the bollocks off that prick of her husband.” 

“She doesn’t want me, Nott. I’m not going to sit here and wait for her—” 

“Yeah, well you should,” Theo interrupted. “You should wait because I know her, and the one thing she’s been missing all these years is something worth fighting for. I think if she had that, she might surprise us all.” 

Harry smiled mirthlessly, throwing his hands up to the heavens as he turned in his spot. “And you think that’s me?”

“I do.” Theo took a few steps and clapped a large hand over Harry’s shoulder. “Don’t leave. She’s had enough people leave her to last a lifetime. What she needs is someone who will show her that they won’t.” 

Theo disappeared with a crack, leaving Harry standing with his luggage on the lawn, too stubborn to stay, too hopeful to leave. 

xXx

The rain was relentless, soaking the grounds and flooding the garden beds. A stack of charmed invitations sat neatly in the middle of the table of the foyer, and he needed only to flick his wrist and they would be sent out to half of wizarding England. 

If he did, his house would again be full come Friday night, brimming with strangers and sound and void of the presence he wanted most. 

Theo Nott had certainly not convinced Harry to stay, but he had convinced him to pause. 

Although Harry had spent most of his young adult life on the run, something about this time felt more permanent. If he left now, he wasn’t coming back. 

His mind raced, chasing memories and dreams as he watched the sideways rain beat down. 

A shimmer of magic danced along his skin, and he stilled, eyes fluttering closed. 

Behind him, the door swung open, the sound of rain flooding the quiet. He tucked his chin, heart galloping away as he counted his breaths. 

_ One. _

A single step. 

_ Two. _

Something heavy against the floor. 

_ Three. _

Step. Step. Step. 

_ Four. _

Before she’d touched him, he knew it was her. He’d never forget the way that her body felt pressed against his. Her arms wound around his middle, cheek pressed against his back, and that single moment stretched on; finally, he felt whole again. 

“Hi,” Pansy said quietly. 

His lips twitched in a small smile, and he turned in her embrace, taking her in his arms. Over her shoulder were a few small bags settled near the door, and that sight alone sent a flood of hope into his chest. 

“Hi.” 

“I know your place is kind of small, but I was wondering if you could make room for me for awhile.” 

With a private smile, he held her tighter, pressing a kiss to her temple and nodding. “There’s always a place for you with me.” 

Then he kissed her. He kissed until stars danced behind his eyelids and the breath was gone from his lungs. 

And he swore on every star in the sky that he’d never be so foolish as to leave Pansy Parkinson again. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> CONTENT WARNING SYNOPSIS: Pansy is in an abusive relationship with her husband, Cassius Warrington. In one scene, he is drunk and she is scared that things might escalate as he's already hurting her by gripping her jaw. In order to distract from that, she has sex with him. Her consent is not because she wants to have sex with him but more out of self-preservation. 
> 
> A/N: Thank you for reading! I had a lot of fun writing this piece and working with elements of The Great Gatsby. Biggest thanks to MCal and Ravenslight for working on this monster with so few days until the deadline! 
> 
> Below are the quotes used/altered in the piece above: 
> 
> "Gatsby? What Gatsby?"
> 
> [after a long pause] Well, I'm certainly glad to see you again.
> 
> "I'm certainly glad to see you again."  
> "I-I'm certainly glad to see you, as well."


End file.
